Writing

Times and Times

There are times when all you can do is blink at the world from behind tired eyes and skinny jeans.

One

Tomorrow I will:

    -Go on one bike ride
      -Take one picture
        -Turn in one application
          -Hit the snooze button one time
            -Write one poem
              -Clean one bedroom [I already regret typing that]
                -Find one new song

                    Not in that order.

My Brother [By Brandon, Naturally]

I have this brother whose name is Brandon.  He is my favorite person in the world.  He teaches me all kinds of fun things.  Which bands are cool to listen to (Ben Folds, Dashboard Confessional, etc.), and which bands are totally lame (Coldplay).
He also teaches me about important computer things too, like how I should always log out of my web pages whenever I use his computer. You know, to make sure nobody uses it to hack my blog or anything like that.
One time when I was younger, I wanted to go to a Fray concert, but my mom didn't want me to go with just my friends and I, so I asked Brandon to come with.  Even though he had to buy a ticket, and didn't even like The Fray, he came with us, just to make me happy.  How many brothers in the world would do that for his little sister?  I can name at least one - Brandon.



People who know how awesome my brother is always ask me what it's like to be the sister of such an amazing guy.  I can't put it in to words,  but fortunately, Bette Midler did such a good job at putting it into song:

Wow.  She may be a terrible actress, and as annoying as all get-out, but she sure knows how awesome Brandon really is. It would take a robot to not cry to this song about Brandon!

I just want everyone to know how lucky I am to have a brother like Brandon.

Impromptu

uncertainty occasionally 

saunters

in

occasionally it remains 

unseen

and disagreeable

but mostly i greet it

uncertainly

Thrown

Sometimes I take pictures that carry zero significance.

Sometimes I just want to ride a ferris wheel.

Sometimes I want cotton candy.

Sometimes I want to paint a mural.

Sometimes I want to make a music video.

Sometimes I want to take pictures of people.

Sometimes I want to write, just so I can write in cursive.

Sometimes I want to play the piano.

But sometimes my sheet music gets thrown away without it asking me if that's okay.

Long, But I Loved Every Moment of It

So, I went to a concert with Alex.

First we went to a barbecue; free food for the ticket winners. I fell into that category. So we ate food. People were drinking beer. We drank water. It was a great time.

Then we headed over to the stadium. We got some nosebleed seats, generosity of the radio station. Luckily, since we were on the farthest row back, we had a wall to lean our backs against. It made me not despise the bleachers, as much. Luckily, the sun was out. Luckily it was warm, for a sec.

For a while I wondered if The Fray was even going to perform. There were no t-shirts with the much-loved band name written on them, tempting me to empty my wallet of forty dollars.

But, never fear. The lovely screen above the stage soon displayed "The Fray", causing an abundance of joy and glee to emanate from the blonde girl in my seat. And the songs were fabulous. And they ended much too soon.

Then it was eight o'clock with an hour to spare. So we wandered around for a while. And Alex even saw someone she knew. I didn't see anyone I knew. So I frowned and thought, "Where are some people I know?"

And then someone tapped me on the shoulder. Someone I knew! I turned to the tapper, and I was soon disappointed when a woman began telling me about a modeling agency. I bit my lip a lot, trying to hold in my laughter. Due to the bizarre, foreign conversation. I dunno; maybe this should be normal for a tall girl.

Well, she finally left, and we were left to more wandering. So, what did we do? We bought a pretzel. That, apparently, was going to take five minutes. And we waited, tapping our toes, watching the passersby. "Where is someone I know? Where is someone I know?"

Before I knew it, my finger was pointing in the air. Pointing at a human. A human person. A normal guy in a normal hat, wearing a normal leather jacket. Normally walking into the stadium.
"Wait..." I said, thrown off.
"No..." Alex responded, in disbelief.
"Yeah..." I returned, my voice wrapped with unbelieving laughter.

And then we were chasing after Isaac Slade, lead singer of The Fray.

He wandered down the aisle, said something to a seated woman, and then sat down. We stood not far away, gawking.

"What do we do??" I looked around, and nobody else was much paying attention to him. Except for one lady. She kept looking over at him.

Then Isaac stood up, looked at the ground, and started walking up the stairs.
Alex didn't miss a beat. "Hey... could we get a picture with you?"
He looked at us, then said, "I better not," shaking his head sympathetically.
"Are you sure?" Alex said, probably with puppy dog eyes.
"We could do it up there," he replied, nodding his head up the stairs.

So we sprinted up, and Isaac walked up, like a normal human being. Then he took a picture of the following with Alex's camera:

Elated. Really. How did that even happen.

It happened. We ran out, Isaac departed, and spaz session began. 

Then Isaac walked back out for a second and saw our excitement. It was embarrassing. But that's okay. It was a good time.

Then we enjoyed the U2 concert. 

Neither of us ever recovered.

100

As previously stated, I have 39 ideas/inspirations/completed posts/secrets/word-conglomerates dehydrating in my drafts. But guess what else. This is post 100. Published post 100. I guess that's not that exciting. Adrian Monk would find it exciting.

Goals for today: 

-Take at least one worthwhile photograph to post. I always want to post a picture. I just end up scrolling through my photos for the infinith time [just go with my vocabulary, here], just looking at the same pictures over and over and over and over again.

I like my pictures. I just need new ones.

-Get ready for the day.

  I'm so ridiculous. It's 11:20. Ante Meridian.

-Get my photo stuff together for that one potential-job.

-Make tomorrow's bad weather become Wednesday's fabulous weather, instead.

Conscious

Sometimes I open a blank post and I just let it sit in front of me for a while. What's my draft count? Thirty-nine. Forty if this ends up in my draft bowl. I have a lot sprinting across my brain right now. One thought: Write this post with  no paragraph breaks. No brain breaks. Just one big blob of written brain, smudged across the screen. Another thought: I wish they'd call me in to interview for that job. You know. That one. The one that would require relocating my location, for a minute. Oh hey, and you know that concert? The tickets-winning one? It's this week. On that one day of the week that is basically promising wet, colder weather. But am I complaining about that fact? Absolutely. My room is a mess. I detest it. I detest sleeping in after I sleep in. But my consciousness randomly attached itself to a sleeping schedule. That's nice. I want a bike. Sometimes I wonder who reads my blog. Is it just for my own therapeutic key-strumming? Either way, I enjoy it. I thoroughly love people. I love listening to conversations that don't belong to me. I love watching people who will carry no relevance as soon as they walk away from sight. But then. Other times I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut tight and pretend like I can tolerate people for a few moments longer. But then it's not pretending, and the tolerance works out. And then I just love people again. Twenty is such an awkward age. I don't know why squinting helps me see better. Habits are hard to break. Ornery should be awnry. Sometimes people don't like my obsessions. That just makes me stick to them, even more. April showers are lasting too long. This summer I will sit on a roof during the evening just for a new perspective.

Today I Liked

The man at Denny's who paid for all those high school some-kind-of-formal-dance folk's checks.

The entire car applauding me when I U-turned.

Spontaneous shopping trip with a before-roommate.

Spontaneous shopping trip bringing me two pairs of skinny jeans. Ten dollars each. [Unspeakable luck and luxury for a long human.]

"Do you want to marry him?" [Nods head down school supply aisle to some guy.] "What?" "Do you want to marry him?" [I smile, thinking I'm so hilarious for making marriage plans with my friend and that guy. Then girlfriend of that guy walks up from right behind us and over to that guy.] [I die.]

The smell of my bathroom when I walked in and realized that my straightener had been plugged in for five hours.

Trying to save the fish at the wedding reception.

Geo-Metric

1-UP

 The drain in my bathroom sink needed to be unclogged.

I don't ever remember letting Chewbacca shave in my bathroom.

But I pulled through. Even though my phone was out in the hallway, the alarm going off every five minutes. Reminding me that Death Cab For Cutie was going to make an appearance on the Jimmy Fallon show. But I ignored the alarm. I ignored the talent on the television that was urgently calling to me.

Eight years later, the water drained perfectly. I looked up at the mirror with a surprised grin, expecting my reflection to give me a round of applause or a high-five.


I don't have a Mario theme song ringtone for nothing, folks.

"Words"

I have something splendid to share. 

something 

Clever, 

something 

Simple,

something

Deep

something that takes 

Twice 

to catch the basis.

I already shared with that little sphere called Facebook. 

But I think you should watch it, too.

Here.

Truther, Truther

Seeing balloons fly up, up, up to the sky makes me glum. It's a lonely, helpless sight.

Maybe someday I will unpack my college things.

I shdould go a sddya withought backespacing anythign I type.

          But not today. I will spare you.

I lie to myself, a lot.

My indecision gets in my way, a lot.

Why is it called 'Bucket List'?

I had a Bucket List, once. I am not sure where it went. It had things on it like, "Paint a mural." and "Find a needle in a haystack."

I have a playlist to share [again]. It's a different piece of work. More bookmarked songs from Pandora. Only they are not songs I listen to repeatedly. Well, some of them I listen to often. If you'd like to hear, here you go.

How does one's bedroom become so horrendously messy when one's possessions are not yet unpacked?

I miss my apartment bedroom.

But it's okay. I have my room, here at home. It's pink. Barbie pink. Not for long. I am going to take a paintball gun to it, pretty soon.

Bloom

If you enjoy slices of poetry, calm, 

And the repeat button,

This song belongs in your brain.

Also, the guy in the red shirt by the tree looks like the identical twin of Andy from The Office. Not that he is relevant to anybody's life, at present. But that's okay.

Yesterday I found the string of notes that are all compiled into a single, beautiful composition on the sidebar of YouTube.
Tell me how it suits you.

11:39 A.M.

This is why you wake up before 11:39 A.M.

Just in cast your mom knocks on your bedroom door and says, "You're wanted on the phone." And then you wonder who on earth would be calling you at a time like this. And you don't even realize that 'at a time like this' is just before noon because you are still half asleep. And you mosey over to the door and make sure your voice will be presentable on the phone. Oh, wait. It doesn't really matter if you sound presentable, because you recall that you haven't applied for any jobs yet. So whoever is on the phone will probably just deal with life and accept your just-out-of-bed voice.

And then you open the door to your mother saying, "You won U2 tickets...." with a smile on her face. Then you pause everything around you and think, "Oh. Wait. She cannot be serious. She is getting back at me for waking up late every day. But then you think that maybe it isn't that late right now. So why would she get back at you? And then you think that maybe she is telling the truth, because she tends to do that.

So you widen your eyes and grin. And hold up a rock sign. And your mom smiles excitedly back. So you are pretty sure this is real.

Then you answer the phone. "Bethany. This is [Insert male name that begins with a 'K', or something.] from My 99.5. You're still in bed? It's 11:39."

Ehem.

And he goes on to say that you won tickets to U2 and The Fray. That one sold out concert that you have been wanting to go to ever since it was postponed last summer.

And then he gives you the little details. And sets you on your way.

But then you realize that you were in bed until 11:39 A.M. And you think, "Some things never change. I hope none of that conversation makes it to the radio."

And then you squeal for joy because you are going to The Fray.

What If

What if I go to an amusement park and I'm not amused?

What if the doorway has no door and no way?

What if I never see you while we are see-sawing?

Claritable

I'm not sure of why I love this word so much.
     I like the way it sounds out loud. Crisp, concise.
     I like its depth.
But I felt like making something.

So I made this.

Awkward Existences of Time

When you 'tear along line' and there is still no opening between you and the food product

Lukewarm water

When a white cat crosses your path and you can't decide what kind of luck you will get from the encounter

That brief and subtle moment when you're at an intersection and all the lights are red at the same time and all the cars just stare each other down

Entitled

I am terrified of doing things alone. Therefore, I am terrified of being lonely. However, I plan on Italy sometime in the future, even if I must go alone.

Airports are demonic.

What's the opposite of "pet peeve"?

After I eat a lot, I have a pooch of a belly. It's almost as if I just filled my gut with much substance, or something.

I have issues in the area of goal-accomplishing. I make plans for the day ahead of me, and I fail. I end up overdosing on music, instead.

I'm okay with music-overdose.

How on earth can I be madly in love with a singer's voice, and then somebody else completely despises that voice? How can sound be heard in the same way, but it is listened to and interpreted completely differently? It's the same sound.

Today something quite hilarious occurred and I thought, "I am going to blog about that, later." And I convinced myself that I wouldn't forget what that hilarious occurrence was. Well. Guess what.

I forgot what was so hilarious.

Exhibition

"I could do that," viewers of abstract/contemporary art often say, in an almost disgusted tone.

Well, to those people:

Do it, then. 

The artists did. That is why their artwork is hanging in a top-notch gallery. 

And yours isn't.

Grey-Gray

I walked out of my house and looked down. My wardrobe was stupendous. Absolutely striking. 

It was grey.

And that's all. My shirt, hoodie, sandals, bag. All grey. And the concrete was a simply lovely contrast.

And in my book, jeans don't have a color. They're just denim.

This is called standing out in the crowd, folks.

If I was a movie star in the fifties, Nobody would have been able to see me on the black and white televisions.

Pale Blush

I arrived home with a diploma in hand and a graduation cap on my head. But only in a figurative sort of sense. My diploma and cap were in a box in the trunk of my vehicular mode of transportation. Along with other boxes in the trunk of my vehicular mode of transportation. A couple of those boxes made it into my old bedroom. A couple others into the room outside of my bedroom. A couple things in the hallway outside of that room. And a couple more by the stairs. The rest are still in the trunk of my vehicular mode of transportation.

I have laundry to do. I have an old bedroom to clean. (Funny how I can live away from home for eight months and my room gets messy.) I have boxes to unpack. I have boxes to remove from my vehicular mode of transportation to my bedroom. 

But there is much pain in my soul. Because all of these things that I must accomplish between now and [insert logical/reasonable time here] are centered around my bedroom.

And you know what? My bedroom is a blinding box of pink, waiting to pounce on anything that is willing to step foot inside of it. And I am that "anything", if I ever feel like sleeping. 

But even when the lights are off, I feel as though I am being suffocated by Barbie's lipstick.

Years ago (like, four or five), I was in a traumatizing stage called "Pink Is Nice. Let Me Paint My Room That Color." But then I recovered.

If any of you are considering painting a room red mixed with white, I advise you not to. Pink can be a nice color. It can. But please do not put that color on a large, vertical plane in a room.

I'm going to go do some laundry.